Final Stage Of Recovery
by btamamura
Summary: Sequel to Recovering From All Wounds. After he learns of what had happened, Philbert extends the invitation for Albert to return home for a few days to try to relax following the distress.


**Disclaimer: **_I do not own Albert the Fifth Musketeer._

**Notes: **_**Okay, thought a sequel for **__Recovering From All Wounds__** was in order, and a thought of D'Artagnan meeting Philbert came to mind, so that's what this includes. I have made references to a few of my fics just now; **__Like Boys In The Snow, Smile! __**and of course the prequel **__Recovering From All Wounds.__** There is no slash in this story at all. Philbert's name is canon, it was stated in the episode **__The King's Jester__**. Enjoy!**_

It had been a month following the attack of the Cardinal's Guards. There had been peaceful days all through that time. It seemed the Cardinal was still wary about upsetting the King. That brought much relief to the still-recovering Musketeers.

Albert was in his workshop, finishing off more helpful inventions that would assist anybody who was sent to the infirmary. Following the incident, he'd found that those items would certainly come in handy if anything like that were to happen again. _Though, I pray that nothing like that will ever happen again..._ It wasn't just his comrades who had suffered following. Albert himself was inflicted with the hardest of all wounds to heal...the emotional kind.

He looked up as he heard the sound of a duck. "That sounds familiar...only one duck I know has that quack." He watched as the feathered fowl flew through his window. "I knew it!"

The duck settled onto his workbench and fluffed its feathers. It took one look at the Musketeer and flapped its wings before letting out a series of excited quacks. It then reached down to its leg and untied the string on its leg and took the scroll into its bill, offering it to the man it recognised.

"Thank you very much." He brought out a bowl of seeds. "Here you go, you've come a long way to deliver this. Have a rest." He unrolled the scroll and read the message.

_Albert, I have recently received news from your Captain that there had been much trouble in your squad. He informed me that you had suffered greatly. I think it would be a wise idea if you were to come home for a few days to try to find some peace following it. It would be a pleasure to see you again after so long. _

_Your father,_

_Philbert de Parmagnan_

He set the note down. "It would be nice to go back home, if only for a short time. It has been very peaceful lately, it should be alright to go for a while."

The duck finished eating its fill, ready to return home. It looked up at him with questioning eyes.

"Oh, of course. Please wait for a few minutes, then I'll write a response for you to take home. For the timebeing, you can have a bit of a rest."

The fowl nodded and lay down, curling into itself and closing its eyes.

_Before I make a decision, I should ask the Captain if it is alright for me to take a leave of absence for a few days._ He made his way out of his workshop.

Captain de Treville was signing some papers when he heard the knock on the door. "Enter!"

Albert opened the door and stepped in, approaching the desk at the other end of the large room. "Good afternoon, Sir."

"Good afternoon. How are the devices coming along?"

"Quite well, but that is not why I am in here."

"Oh?"

"I received a letter from my father, letting me know that you had informed him of what had happened recently."

"Should I not have? I thought it would be wise to inform everyone's families in the event they needed to return home."

"I understand that, Sir, and I am glad you informed my father. He requested that I return home for a few days so I can try to gain some peace after everything that happened."

"Of course, of course. I see no harm in that. After what he pulled, I doubt the Cardinal will try anything for fear of being exiled by His Majesty."

"It's alright for me to leave?"

"Of course it is. I think some time at home would do you some good. You still haven't recovered completely, have you?"

"No, Sir. I have been focusing on my personal recovery."

"I know you have. You're still in a much better condition than the first week."

He blushed lightly. "In that case..."

Philbert de Parmagnan heard the sound of his duck approaching. "Ahh, seems my son has sent a response." He'd trained his carrier duck to only quack upon return if carrying a message. If not, it was to stay silent until sitting in front of him.

The duck sailed through the window smoothly and landed on the table in front of him. It quacked three times before untying the string holding the note.

Philbert accepted the message and unrolled it.

_Papa, I cannot tell you how happy I am to hear from you. I wish to apologise for lack of correspondence between us._

_I have asked permission and have been granted leave. However, Papa, I am bringing a guest, a good friend of mine. We have been assisting each other with our recoveries. I hope you do not mind the extra company. We shall leave Paris first thing in the morning, arriving in two days at the latest._

_With warm regards from your son,_

_Albert de Parmagnan._

The man smiled as he turned to look out the window. "I see. So, we shall have extra company. I'm glad of that...and I'm sure his mother would feel the same way." He then turned to look at a portrait on the wall. The best artist in the village had painted it. It was of the family when Albert was still a young child.

Albert and D'Artagnan made certain they had everything they would need for a two-day journey, including food rations for themselves and their equine partners. "It has been a couple of years since I travelled along that way, so I am unsure if any inns are along that way or not."

"There weren't last time?" D'Artagnan asked.

"None. I stayed at Andre's house when I first came to Paris."

The older Musketeer fixed up the saddle, before mounting his horse. "Alright, you'll have to lead the way."

"Of course." He mounted his mule after tightening the saddle. He then turned to face the Three Musketeers and the Captain of the squad. "We'll return within a few days."

"Take care on your journey," de Treville responded. "I hope that both of you will feel much better upon your return."

"I'm sure we will," D'Artagnan responded.

"Well then, let us be off." Albert kicked in his heels, signalling for his mule to move.

D'Artagnan did the same, and his horse followed after the small mule.

They rode for half a day before stopping for a rest. Albert led them to a quiet lake. "Our horses can have a drink from the lake, it's always full of clean water. I'll prepare something for us to eat. Can you take care of the feed bags after they've had enough water?"

"Sure."

The miniature Musketeer led the equines closer to the lake. As they dipped their heads closer to the water, he removed a food pack from both of their saddlebags. "Here we are." He handed one to D'Artagnan. "Make it last, alright?"

"You don't have to tell me." He accepted the food pack with thanks and took out a bread roll. He broke some off and put it into his mouth.

Albert had done the same. "Thank you very much for agreeing to come with me, D'Artagnan."

"It's alright. I would like to meet your father. What is he like?"

"Kind and warm, yet can be a bit protective at times. It was Maman who was the most protective."

"I remember you mentioned about protective parents that time we played in the snow."

He chuckled. "Yes, well after meeting my father, you'll be able to judge yourself just how protective of me he was when I was child. It didn't help that I'd worried him for five years."

"Five years...? What happened?"

"As you know, Maman passed away when I was seven years old. I was struck horribly by that. I had forgotten how to smile and spent more of my time crying."

"Gosh..."

"It was Balthazar who saved me."

"Balthazar? Hmm, come to think of it, you did mention that he's an old friend of your father. How did he save you?"

"He reminded me that even in times of pain, it's alright to smile. Maman knew that all too well." He popped another piece of bread into his mouth, chewed and swallowed. "When she was giving birth to me, she kept in mind that the reason she was in pain was because she was giving birth to her first child. And..."

He noticed the younger male had become a bit sullen. "What is it?"

"The night she died, from what Balthazar said Papa told him, no matter how much pain she was in, no matter how unwell she felt, she continued to smile. She remembered that she was loved deeply by her husband and son. When I heard that, I felt a little more at peace. It felt better knowing that while Maman was unfortunately suffering greatly, she was still able to find it in herself to see the positive side of things."

"She sounds like she was a great woman."

"She was."

"So, what's up with this visit?"

"Captain de Treville had informed our families of what had happened, and Papa seemed to have been worried after what he'd heard."

"If he'd seen you in that first week, I think worry wouldn't even cover it."

He looked down at his hands. "I really was bad off at that time, wasn't I? It was incredible I was able to find a way to keep myself calm enough to sleep at night and eat my meals."

He rose to his feet, brushing the grass off his backside. "I'm going to go feed the horses now."

"Of course."

"Are you alright?"

"Yes. I'm alright. Just in thought."

"If you feel a need to share them, then do so."

"I know. Thank you."

He clapped a hand on his shoulder. "You are on your way back to the old Albert, but until then, we'll still help each other."

He nodded with a smile as he looked up at his older comrade. He watched as he walked over to the equines, noticing there was still a bit of a limp in his walk. He looked back to the ground and let out a quiet sigh. _Hopefully this time at home will help..._

After a rest, they were ready to get moving again. The two Musketeers mounted their equines, kicking their heels into their sides, getting them to gallop ahead. "We're making good time already, D'Artagnan. I think it might even take us at least a day and a half until we get there."

"Half a day less is a lot better than half a day more. So, has this road changed from what you remember?"

"No, it's still as quiet as I remember."

"That's good then. As long as we avoid any form of trouble."

"Oh yes, that's a certainty." _Especially since neither of us is up for any._

The stars were shining in the sky, it was getting late. There was no sign of an inn anywhere, which meant they were going to be camping out that night. "There is a clearing along this way that we can sleep in. We should avoid sleeping in forest if we can help it."

"Wouldn't a clearing be more trouble?"

"Believe it or not, it isn't. Bandits in this area are known for attacking anybody in the forest because it's harder for passers-by to see them attack unknown riders. But, in the clearing, since it's just along the road, they would be caught in the act."

"Well, I'll take your word for it. You do know this area much better than I do."

"Another reason to sleep in the clearing is because there's a clearer view of the stars. That makes camping worthwhile."

"Very true."

"Come on, it's this way."

They'd set up camp. The horses had been well-fed, it was just the waiting game for their food to be warmed over the fire.

D'Artagnan looked up. "The sky really is clear tonight. But, what would you have suggested if it was raining?"

"Further along the road, we'd turn towards the forest, but not into it. There is a cave."

"Wow, you really did come with everything planned, didn't you?"

"It wouldn't do if we were to fall ill after being completely soaked by the rain, would it?"

"No, of course not. But, it's not just that. You can still remember this whole area as if it was just yesterday that you came this way. You've been keeping everything in mind all this time?"

"I thought it would be good to be prepared for the day I returned home." He scooped the food into a bowl and handed it to his comrade. "Here you go. Don't tell the others, they'll be rather envious."

He looked into the bowl and saw a pasta dish. "Why would they be envious?"

"It's a new sauce I am experimenting with." He scooped some more into a second bowl. "If they knew you got to try it first without them, I'm certain they'd be rather jealous of you."

He chuckled. "Especially Porthos." He accepted a fork, put it into the bowl and twirled it until he caught enough of the pasta, then he took it out of the bowl and stuck it into his mouth. He let out an appreciative sound as he chewed and swallowed.

"Is it alright?"

"Alright? It's better than alright! This is heaven!"

"Oh no, surely not..."

"You're blushing," he teased with a smirk marking his lips.

He pulled the brim of his cap down to hide his face. "Don't tease."

"Sorry." He didn't cease smirking though. "Still, I can see why you're worried about the others being jealous. So, is this going to be used against the Guards the next time we run into each other?" No response. "Albert?"

"No. I do not think the Guards deserve this."

He cursed mentally. "I'm sorry."

"Why are you apologising?"

"Listen to yourself right now. You've gone quiet again. And not the good quiet either. You're starting to sound like the second week of the recovery stage. That was still pretty bad. I don't want you to fall into a quiet depression again."

He looked up, his eyes sad. "I'm sorry for worrying you, D'Artagnan. It's just that...I can't ever forget just what the Cardinal had his Guards do to all of you. It was horrendous. I always played around with them. I mean...my ammunition is usually spaghetti bolognese with either sleeping powder or hot sauce. I've never once delivered serious harm to them. None of you had either. And yet, the Cardinal felt it was justified to have his Guards try to kill all of you."

"We know already he'll do what it takes when he gets desperate. I'm not saying that's a good reason for what he'd done. His Majesty is still very sore at him about it, so much so that he is too scared to try anything."

"I'd heard from the Captain about that."

"So, I doubt we'll even have to deal with the Guards in the future."

"I suppose so."

He decided it was about time to change the subject back to something a little more happy. "So, have you tasted your new sauce yet?"

"Oh, no I haven't."

"You really should. You'll surprise yourself with how good it is."

"It's really that good?" He twirled some pasta around his fork and stuck it into his mouth. His face lit up. _This really is delicious!_ He chewed and swallowed. "I never thought I'd be able to create something like that!"

"I told you that you'd surprise yourself."

They continued to eat in silence.

They'd set out their bedding, just a couple of blankets, and were lying on the grass. "The weather's nice tonight. It's not too cold," D'Artagnan commented.

"No, at this time of year, it's always pleasant at night, even all the way out here." He looked up to the stars. "You never see the stars like this in Paris."

"You're right about that. So, did you always find a way to look at the stars as a child?"

"Of course. On nights like this, Papa and I would lie in the grass for a while and look at them. Sometimes we'd try to make pictures by joining them together."

"Sounds interesting." He let out a yawn. "Sorry, must be more tired than I thought."

"It's quite alright. We should consider going to sleep, we'll be off first thing in the morning."

"That soon?"

"Like I said, we're already making good time, so if we continue the way we are, we'll arrive at about lunchtime. And I'm certain you'd like to taste Papa's homecooking."

"Your father's a good cook?"

"Yes. Maman taught him everything he knows, and she was the best cook in the village. When I was old enough, Papa passed down the knowledge."

"That explains why you're so good."

He nodded tiredly before letting out a yawn. "Anyway, let's go to sleep now. Good night, D'Artagnan."

"Good night, Albert. Have a good sleep."

"You too, my friend."

They both closed their eyes, and soon, they were fast asleep, lulled by the sounds of the night surrounding them.

Philbert looked out his window as he heard the sound of hooves pounding the dirt road. "That sounds like they've arrived." He put a lid over the large cooking vat. "Good thing I prepared enough for three people." He allowed the fire to keep burning at a low flame and made his way outside to greet his son and the friend who would be staying with them.

D'Artagnan noted the joy on Albert's face as soon as the middle-aged man stepped outside. "I can take the horses out to the paddock. You should go and see your father."

"Thank you, D'Artagnan." He pulled back on the reins and caused his mule to halt. "Keep following the small dirt path until you get to the meadow. The horses will be very happy out there, and there is some shelter for them in the event of too much sun or some rain."

"Right, I understand. I'll be there in a few minutes. I think though you should have a few minutes to reunite with your old man."

He dismounted his mule and stroked its neck. "Thanks for bringing me here, boy. Go with D'Artagnan, alright?" He watched the mule nod then turn to follow D'Artagnan and his horse. He then turned to face his father, his steps quick as he approached him. "It is good to see you again, Papa."

The man responded with a warm embrace, patting his son's back. "It's good to see you again, my boy. How has everything been in Paris these last couple of years?"

"There are moments of peace, but sometimes, trouble comes up, courtesy of His Eminence."

"Yes, of course. And I'd heard he was actually the one at fault for what happened recently."

"He was."

He noticed his son's tone was quiet. "Well, enough about that for now. You're here to relax. And as I understand, you brought one of your comrades?"

"Yes. He's just taking the horses to the meadow."

"Your letter said you've been helping each other with recovery?"

"Yes. He'd been among my comrades who had been so severely wounded that their lives were at risk. He's recovering well, aside from some stubborn wounds."

"Your wounds are completely different, aren't they?"

"Yes. And he has been helping me try to recover from all of mine. They're difficult to heal from."

"But, you're still looking pretty well, considering what I'd read."

"If you'd witnessed it, you would've thought differently."

He finally allowed his son to pull back from the embrace enough so he could look at him. "Seeing you in uniform reminds me more and more just how proud of you I am. Your mother would surely feel the same way."

He nodded, a sad smile marking his features. "Yes, I'm certain she would." He heard the approaching footfalls and turned to his comrade. "Did you find it alright?"

"Yes, your mule led us all the way there," D'Artagnan replied.

"I'm glad." He stepped back slightly. "Papa, I'd like you to meet Charles D'Artagnan, one of my comrades and closest friends. D'Artagnan, this is my father Philbert de Parmagnan."

Philbert offered his hand so D'Artagnan could shake it. "It's a pleasure to meet you, young man."

"The pleasure is all mine, Monsieur de Parmagnan. Albert has told me much about you."

"Feel free to call me _Philbert_, alright?" He saw D'Artagnan nod and the handshake ended. "Now, come on in, boys, lunch is ready. Good thing I cooked enough for three, huh?" He led them inside the small cottage.

As all three men ate their fill, Albert told Philbert of some of the adventures he'd had. "And then, I'd had a reunion with Balthazar."

"Yes, I'd heard about that. Balthazar is still sending me letters every now and then. Sounds like he's living his dream."

"His dream?" D'Artagnan asked.

"Balthazar always saw the importance of smiles and laughter, so he made it his life's mission to spread it wherever he could. If even the most stubborn person could laugh at his jokes or tricks, then he'd feel he'd succeeded in his duty as the bringer of laughter."

"Oh, I understand." He had another mouthful. "This really is delicious, Philbert."

"Thank you. It was my wife's recipe."

"Albert mentioned she was a wonderful cook."

"When she first fell ill, she started to teach me everything she knew. I took all of her lessons to heart."

"Albert's the same."

"You are? So, you've found a passion for cooking?"

Albert nodded. "Some of my ammunitions are actually food. A personal favourite is spaghetti bolognese. I also add some hot sauce or sleeping powder to each serving."

Philbert laughed. "I take it even the enemy likes it?"

"Yes. Even if they know what it will do, they still decide to taste the spaghetti."

"It never ceases to amaze me how they can keep doing that," D'Artagnan added. "You should try his newest sauce, it's incredible!"

"Is that so?" Philbert turned to his son. "You wouldn't mind cooking that up for dinner tonight, would you?"

"Not at all, Papa," the miniature Musketeer responded.

"Good. Now then, while you're both here, feel free to relax. And Albert, now that you're an adult, I'm not going to be overprotective of you. But, if old habits start to come up, just let me know and I will back away, alright?"

"Of course, Papa." He finished his lunch. "I think for now I might have a bit of a nap. I'm still a little tired from the journey. I'll wake up in time to prepare dinner for this evening."

"Alright then. Have a good rest."

He nodded. "D'Artagnan, there is a guest bedroom that you can stay in while you're here." He then rose from the table, his dishes in hand. He put them into a large tub and then made his way out of the dining room.

Once Philbert was certain his son was out of earshot, he started to speak with D'Artagnan. "I'd heard somewhat about how serious his condition was following the attack, but I doubt I'd read everything about it. Would you mind telling me about it? I want to know how I can help my son."

"Of course." He quickly finished lunch, then took his and Philbert's dishes and put them into that same tub. He returned to the table. "The first week was pretty bad. On the first night, Albert kept telling me that he felt as if he was at fault for what had happened to us. It eventually got so bad, that he cried himself to sleep, resting against my cot. It didn't help that he'd been told that chances of our survival were slim."

Philbert nodded.

"Then, the next day he seemed fine enough. But when he was in his workshop constructing some devices to help us stay comfortable while we recovered from our injuries, he had a breakdown. He told us that he'd remembered why he was making them, and the guilt returned. He'd tried to keep those thoughts away, but they kept arguing with his common sense until they won over. For the rest of the day, he refused to eat anything because he felt ill. He found it difficult to sleep unless he was resting on my cot. He told me...it was a habit he'd picked up from childhood."

"His mother..."

"Yes. The doctor and Captain had ordered him to leave the infirmary believing it was hindering his personal recovery." He shook his head. "So, he'd just come in when with Captain de Treville. He managed to find some way to allow himself to sleep at night."

"What did he do? Those feelings of guilt wouldn't just leave overnight."

"No, and I'm sure they still haven't, but he's been blaming himself a lot less. He told us that he kept telling himself that we were alright and would still be alive come the next time he visited us. It helped him, and he was eating substantial foods. But, he was still very depressed and guilty about what had happened. The first week was the worst of it. I'd never seen him cry so much, and I never want to again."

"Then, I'd say you're blessed for not having to see him following his mother's passing."

"He told me about that. The second week of our recovery, when we were granted permission to leave the infirmary, he was in a quiet depression. We would try to keep him occupied, but if anything related to the attack was mentioned at all, whether it was complaining about an ache from a recovering gash or just bringing up about the Cardinal's Guards, he'd go quiet. It happened again last night. It's not just that he blames himself, he's appalled at what the Cardinal had his Guards do to us, and I'm afraid there might still be that fear. At first I wondered why he'd asked me to come with him on this trip, but now I know."

"He's still afraid to be apart from you after all of that." He shook his head. "Albert has never been good with trauma."

"He always seems like such a happy chap, it's hard to believe that the man who would blast spaghetti at his enemies is the same man who found it hard to keep from having breakdowns a month ago."

"Having you here does seem to be helping him though. Keep doing what you are, and I'm sure he'll be able to cope with everything. I'd mentioned something concerning the attack earlier, and I'd noticed how quiet he became." He shook his head again. "I never wanted my son to be in so much pain again, not after those five years of feeling nothing but sorrow."

"We're all doing what we can to bring back our happy friend."

He lay on his old bed, the conversation in the kitchen sounding clear as a bell to him. It was no surprise, it was a very small cottage. He let out a sigh before sitting up. "All of a sudden, I'm not as tired as I was. I think I'll go for a walk." He slid off the bed and slipped on his boots. He quietly made his way out of the house.

As he walked along the dirt road, he kicked at a couple of stones. "I just can't seem to keep those who care about me from worrying at times like these, can I? First, the five years of worry I'd brought upon Papa, and now all of this as well. It is true that I can't handle trauma very well, but it doesn't mean I should cause such concern to my friends and family." He looked to the road. "From what I heard just before, D'Artagnan is still very worried about my wellbeing. I somehow find ways to bring more worry to him." He sighed. "Like last night when he brought up the Cardinal's Guards." He didn't watch where he was walking, just allowing his feet to carry him.

Back at the cottage, Philbert and D'Artagnan had finished their conversation. "I'll go and check on my son, see if he's resting well." Philbert rose from the table and made his way out of the dining room and to his son's old bedroom. He knocked on the door. "Albert? Are you alright?" He opened the door a crack and saw the covers had been pulled back. "Oh dear." He hurried back to the dining room. "I think he overheard our conversation."

"I can go after him. Do you know where he could be going?"

"This is just a feeling I have...but..."

He looked up and stopped in his tracks. "This is..." He stepped through the old iron gates and walked through the cemetery, not stopping until he'd reached his intended destination. The resting place of his dear mother. He knelt by the grave. "Maman, after two years, I have finally returned. I am afraid things have not been all that good lately. You see..." He started to tell her everything that had happened a month ago and leading to that very day.

D'Artagnan was outside the cottage. "Which way do I go?"

"Follow the road down that way, and you'll find it. He'll be somewhere up the back."

"Alright. I'll bring him back."

"Be certain to give him some time. After he'd finally allowed himself to heal from the grief, he found that his mother's resting place was a perfect place for seeking comfort."

"Sure." He took off down the road.

"I was frightened when the doctor informed me of their conditions. Despite knowing that they're alright now, I still feel a little bit of fear. It's not as intense as it was a month ago, but there's still a little." He closed his eyes. "No matter what I do, Maman, I just can't seem to leave it go. It's continuing to stay with me, along with those feelings of guilt. They're not as serious, but they're still there." He sighed. "Maman, I'm doing nothing but cause worry to all those close to me again. I'd done enough during the first five years following your passing, but now this too. I could hear Papa and D'Artagnan speaking with each other about my condition, and I could tell how much worry I've caused them. It's too much." He opened his eyes. "I wish that even during moments like these, I could be strong enough. I can never handle trauma well."

A gentle breeze blew through the trees, tenderly stroking his cheek.

"Maman..." He shook his head. "I can't seem to keep myself from feeling upset about what had happened. I love all of them very much, they are like my brothers, not just comrades in the squad. If they had lost their lives that day...I don't know what I would have done. I don't know if I would've been able to find any possible way of coping with their deaths. It frightens me." He wrapped his arms around himself and shivered, not from cold. "Maman, there are few times in my life that I've felt such fear, so much that it chills me to the bone. What happened to my friends, what could've happened to them...they are the worst of my fears."

D'Artagnan was approaching the grave Albert was kneeling beside, but as he heard the man confide in the spirit of his mother, he felt it would be wise to do as requested and give him a few moments.

After half an hour, Albert rose to his feet. "I still don't know what I should do. But, thank you for listening to me." He dusted the soil off his knees. "Well...I'll be here for a few days, so I will be back before returning to Paris. Au revoir, Maman." He turned to walk down the path and jumped slightly at who was standing there. "D'Artagnan?"

"Hello." He approached his comrade. "Philbert told me you'd likely be here."

He sighed. "I worried Papa again, didn't I?"

"A little. Just because he wasn't expecting your room to be empty. Are you ready to go?"

He nodded. "Yes. Let's go." He made his way down the path, knowing D'Artagnan was following him.

"How much did you hear?"

"To be honest...a lot."

"I see."

The older male placed a hand on his younger comrade's shoulder. "You know, if you want to tell me anything, anything at all, I will listen."

"I know. I just felt...it helped to sort my thoughts and feelings when I was speaking to Maman."

"I can figure that. You seem a little lighter right now."

"D'Artagnan...why do I always worry everyone during traumatic moments? I'm not the only one going through it, and yet I manage to make things worse..."

"Don't think that."

"How can I not?"

"You don't make us worry about you. We choose to worry about you because we care about you. Throughout this last month, what were you most worried about?"

"All of you."

"Why?"

"I'm sure you heard me telling Maman the reason."

"Kind of. I'd rather hear it straight from you."

"It's because I think of all of you as my brothers. I love all of you like family."

"We feel the same way. That's why we worried about you. Nobody likes seeing someone they care about suffering the way you were. Doesn't it seem like Philbert would've felt the same back when you were a child?"

He nodded. "You're right. Papa worried about my everlasting depression because I'm his son and he loves me."

"That's why he worried about you today as well. So, the last thing you should do is worry about worrying everyone. If we didn't love you, we wouldn't worry as much."

Another nod. "Thank you, D'Artagnan."

"You should talk with Philbert about this too. But, I'm sure he'll tell you the same thing I just did. Still, it might help him understand a little more if you did tell him everything you're feeling."

"You're right."

"Well then, since you're feeling a little better..." He started to run ahead. "I'll race you back to your house!"

"That's not very fair, D'Artagnan!" he called back, running after his friend.

That night after dinner, D'Artagnan excused himself from the table. He clapped a hand on Albert's shoulder and spoke in a low voice, "I'll give you two a chance to talk about it now." In a louder voice, "well, I'm a little tired, so I think I'll hit the hay early tonight. Bonne nuit."

"Bonne nuit," the father and son replied.

Albert inhaled deeply. "Papa, I want to talk to you about a concern I have been having."

"Of course, my son, what is it?"

"I...I keep causing everyone to worry about me. I don't mean to do it. But, even now, I've been bringing worry to you. I shouldn't have left this afternoon without at least letting you know."

"No, that's alright. Like I said, you are an adult, so you don't need to tell me where you're going anymore. I figured you'd went to visit her. As for worrying us, that's not something you need to worry about. We do it because we care about you. If you could have seen yourself during these most traumatic moments, you'd most likely worry about you as well. When I'd read what I had from Monsieur de Treville, I couldn't help but worry. I know you never handle these situations well. But, after hearing what I had from D'Artagnan, it became a lot worse. I'd never thought you'd ever be so down again in your life."

"It has been a difficult month. I'm thankful I can at least eat and sleep at night."

"It's no surprise after hearing what I had. Your friends were all injured in serious ways, they were fortunate that they pulled through. What exactly happened that day?"

"The Guards ambushed the Musketeers when I wasn't around. It wasn't just four or five Guards, it was twenty. By the time I arrived, there were still five Guards fighting against D'Artagnan. I at first thought the others were asleep, but as I approached D'Artagnan to help him fight off those Guards, I could see he had been injured. It was incredible he was still standing. That was when I'd realised that the others weren't sleeping, they were unconscious from blood loss. After the other Guards had been defeated, D'Artagnan finally allowed himself to lose consciousness. I became so overwhelmed by the current events, that I too lost consciousness, despite not receiving any wounds. It was a kind stranger who got us the help we needed. When I came to, we were all in the infirmary at de Treville's mansion. I'd asked the doctor about their conditions..."

Philbert noticed his son was becoming upset, but he didn't want to tell him to stop. Maybe talking about it was going to help him.

"...and he said...that they...if they didn't wake by morning, chances of recovery were slim. D'Artagnan did awake throughout the night, not long after the doctor left me to try to get some rest. We talked for a while, and I admitted to him that I felt guilty about what had happened."

"Why is that?"

"Because I wasn't there when they needed me the most. I don't usually mind being background support for them, but that was a time we all should've been together. That guilt mixed with my fear of losing my comrades caused me to have a bit of a breakdown that night and the next morning."

Philbert nodded. "How did you find you could ease those feelings enough to get through the day without them bothering you?"

"The first night I'd been asked to leave the infirmary, I couldn't sleep. I tried to, but then a nightmare of my friends dying hit me. I couldn't sleep at all. At the crack of dawn, I pretty much barged into the infirmary to see if they were alright. They were, but the doctor wasn't impressed and he had me leave again. Even so, it was enough of a comfort that I was able to tell myself before I slept that they would be alright. I did so over and over, making sure I believed myself."

"That would help the fear. What about the guilt?"

"After the others were released from the infirmary, Athos had commented on how angry he was about a scar being left on his face. We all started joking around a little that some women find scars attractive, so they would all have no problems finding someone to settle down with. I think at that time, the guilt had eased enough, otherwise I would've ruined the moment by blaming myself for not being there."

"It's good when you can joke about something like that. It also means that your friends never blamed you and if they could make jokes about what had happened, it means that they were able to move on a little easier. But, you were still cut very deeply, weren't you?"

"I was. The wounds are still healing. I don't think they'll ever be completely healed."

"No, I don't think so either. But, as long as you don't allow this to ruin your life, then you're making some progress in healing them."

"I'm glad for that. Something the doctor and Captain de Treville had said to me was that if I didn't allow the guilt and fear to ease up, then I would have to leave the Musketeers."

"Why did they say that?"

"Because I wouldn't be able to focus on duty, instead of on the conditions of my friends."

"I see."

"It was a little bit of a wake-up call too, so I have to admit I'm a little thankful they said that to me."

"If you are, then that's good."

"I'm still working on healing, but I'm not as afraid as I was."

"Still, you had D'Artagnan come along. Why is that?"

"His injuries were the worst. I still feel a little bit of fear concerning him, even if he was the first to wake during the crucial moments. And out of all of the Musketeers, he's my closest friend. When I was staying in the infirmary, I couldn't sleep unless I rested against his cot. It felt a little easier."

"Because of your mother."

He nodded. "Yes, exactly. It was the exact same thing I did with Maman before she passed away."

"I know. Old habits of yours die hard. I'm only thankful you're still able to smile through this."

"My friends are alive. That's enough of a reason to smile."

"I'm glad you see that." The older man nodded. "It sounds like while you do still have a long way to go for complete recovery, you're certainly on your way. I'm proud of you, my son."

"Merci, Papa."

Philbert rose from the table and moved to his son's side. "I really am. I've never been more proud. Despite such a difficult situation, you are doing what you can to heal from it instead of dwell on it."

"I do not wish to repeat those five years again."

"I am not surprised."

Albert rose from his seat and embraced his father. "Thank you listening, Papa. It feels much better getting all of that off my chest."

The man returned the embrace. "It's quite alright, Albert. I thought you should talk about it all. Seems young D'Artagnan feels the same way."

"All of my comrades feel the same way." He shook his head slightly. "No, I won't call them my comrades. My _brothers_ feel the same way. They would all do what they could to get me to open up about what had happened."

"Did you?"

"Sometimes. Sometimes it was a little difficult to."

"At least you know that they care about you. And remember that I always will too."

"I know, Papa. Merci beaucoup."

In his bedroom, D'Artagnan smiled. He could hear the whole conversation. _Good on you, Albert. You do sound a lot better now._

After another day of relaxation, it was time for the two Musketeers to head back to Paris. "It might be quiet for now, but you never know when we'll be required to serve," Albert explained to his father.

Philbert nodded. "It's quite alright, my boy. I understand that your duty is important. I am glad you took some time off to come visit though. You do look a lot better than when you first arrived."

"He's right, Albert, you look more like your old self," D'Artagnan added. He'd been collecting the equines from the meadow. "Philbert, it has been a pleasure meeting you. I thank you most graciously for your kind hospitality."

"It's alright, D'Artagnan. Any friends of my son are welcome here anytime. Now, can you do an old man a favour?"

"What is it?"

"Take good care of my son, alright?"

D'Artagnan chuckled. "If anything, Sir, he's the one who takes care of us."

Albert pulled the brim of his hat down slightly, hiding his eyes. "You take care of me too..."

Philbert laughed. "It's good when friends get along so well with each other. Well, take care, you two, alright?" He wrapped his arms around his son. "Keep making me proud, Albert."

"Of course I will, Papa." He quickly returned the embrace, then it was broken and he mounted his mule. "I'll write more often, Papa."

"See that you do. I look forward to your letters."

D'Artagnan quickly shook hands with Philbert, thanking him once again for the hospitality, then mounted his horse.

Philbert watched as they kicked their heels into the sides of the equines and rode off down the road. _No matter what you do, I'll always be proud of you, my boy. It was good to see you again._

"I take it your talk with Philbert went well?"

"Very well. I opened up to him, explained everything...even spoke about that first week in general. It felt good getting it off my chest."

"You look a lot better for it too. Now, what do you say we get back to Paris and prove just how far you've come in recovery?"

"I think it would be a nice surprise for everyone. I am thankful that all of you care about me...but I don't really like worrying everyone so much."

"We know."

One day and a half later, they'd returned to Paris and made their way straight to de Treville's mansion. They were a little surprised to see their comrades waiting by the gate. "Friends! This is a surprise!" Albert exclaimed. "How long have you been standing here?"

"Not long. We knew you'd only be gone for a couple of days," Aramis responded. "It looks like you needed that rest, right now you're looking at your best!"

He pulled the brim of his hat down to hide his eyes as his cheeks turned a light pink. "I spoke with D'Artagnan, Papa and Maman about how I was feeling. It felt much better getting everything off my chest."

"Well, you certainly look like your old self again."

"Thank you." He lifted the brim. "I am sorry for making you worry so much."

"It's alright, we worried because we care about you," Porthos responded.

Athos nodded as a quiet addition.

D'Artagnan reached over and clapped a hand on the smallest Musketeer's shoulder. "See? I told you so."

Albert smiled. "Thank you for being such good friends to me."

"Well, come on, lads, what do you say we go out for a meal to celebrate your return and Albert's recovery?" Porthos suggested.

The other four nodded emphatically, it did seem like a good idea. Albert and D'Artagnan were still a bit hungry following the journey they'd had, and they all knew Porthos' appetite. "We'll go put our horses into their stables, give them a bit of a feed and wash and then we can head out," D'Artagnan stated.

That evening, all of them were at a local tavern, a feast on the table. Even if the other four became full early on, they could count on Porthos to complete it. They were all in a much better mood than they had been a month earlier. They raised their mugs of ale in a toast, brought them together and let out a hearty cheer.

As the night wore on, it was time for them to leave the tavern. They all agreed that it was the first time they'd ever left the tavern feeling full of joy, and not just because the meal they'd had was satisfying, nor was it a slight buzz from the ale. It was because it felt like old times, all of them feeling at their absolute best, ready to take on anything that came at them.

They were the King's Musketeers, and as long as they stuck together, they could handle anything. If they found they couldn't handle something alone, they could always turn to the others for help. It was something they were never going to forget.


End file.
